A story of one soul during two lives

Shrub nodded, emerging from his daze. His father had made a humiliating gaffe once, in referring to the anniversary of that infamous attack, which had brought Murica into Double-U Double-U Eye-Eye; it would be good to supplant the event in the public memory. “But how do we get Juhpan to bomb us again? They sells us so many flying carpets these days.”

Pink refrained from calling the monarch a moron; after all, secret society or no, the King is the King. A year of his home world’s planetary product had been invested in training him and his failed father, from birth, to appeal to the lowest common denominator. Pink’s own sister had been sold into sexual slavery to Sirian Satyrs to help finance the infiltration. If Earth were invaded, Centuri would no longer be the grimiest toilet in the quadrant. This planet was already half ruined; finishing the job would turn it to a crushed dusty pulp in just a few stardates.

“Nobody is going to bomb Murica. Who could be so stupid? So, we arrange to have it done ourselves. That way, we can blame it on whomever we choose.” He paused. “I was thinking of Assume Ibeen Plottin’, but we can throw some blame at good old Madman Insane, too, if we need to. Why not? Two enemies for the price of one. The beauty of it is, they’ve both been making so much anti-Murica noise that no one will believe them even if they deny it, which they can’t because they’ll lose face. Hell, we can pin it on every Towelhead in Sandland.”

The King frowned. “Does it have to be Oyster Bay, though? I was planning on retiring in Ha-wow-ee, and I don’t want the beaches all tore up when I get there.”

“No, you id-idyllic, uh, ruler. I merely meant that the attack, the outrages it inspires, will be on the same scale. The target will be the Marketplace in New Yoke City, which according to a survey of one hundred randomly selected households, was the site of the most popular terrorist strike of the past decade. We strike right at the heart of the Murican people, which is most readily accessed through its wallet.” Mr. Pink rubbed his palms together gleefully; he had no more malice against Shrub’s Kingdom than any other, but he was a very mean man (or alien!) and enjoyed causing suffering in general.

The King hesitated. “But aren’t those, you know, our people? I mean, the Marketplace! Won’t a lot of rich people die?”

Pink shrugged. “The place will be cleared out of Gull and Crones members that day, you can be sure, except for those we decide to purge from our ranks by not warning them. As to the others-well, they’re not with us, so they must be against us. Would you rather stage an attack on a military fort, and risk destroying valuable equipment?”

So it was settled. Mr. Pink departed for Rug Country, and there contacted the top leadership of the venerable Hash-fiends, who agreed to provide some of their members for the attack. Secret society professional courtesy kept the fee to a nominal level, as the Hash-fiends enjoyed sending their less desirable members on periodic suicide missions anyway, just for kicks. Large bets were placed on which kamikazes would lose nerve and need to be executed by their fellows. It was a source of great amusement.

And so a promising trading day in the early harvest season was rudely interrupted, just as it was getting underway, by two flying commercial transport dragons crashing into each of the Pair of Pavilions of the Marketplace. The hearts of transport dragons pump explosive jet fuel instead of blood, and the damage was total. Thousands perished, including of course the hijackers, and what’s more, some extremely valuable real estate was destroyed. A bona fide tragedy.

Two additional dragons were commandeered at the same time, directed not at New Yoke but the Kingdom’s capital; one crashed into a fortuitously underinhabited section of the Pentacle, Murica’s military headquarters, while the other missed by just several hundred miles its intended target: King Shrub II’s Beige Palace. The immediate comparison was indeed with Oyster Bay-the current disaster far outshadowed that naval ambush-and even the most cynical were shocked.